


it’s getting late (to give you up)

by humanveil



Category: Real Person Fiction, RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 14:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12367269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: There is something ethereal about the way Adore looks in the early morning light, and Roy is most definitely done for.





	it’s getting late (to give you up)

Adore stumbles through the hotel door sometime between five and six in the morning, and Roy thinks a lot of things when he sees her, but mostly he just thinks _fuck._

She’s still dressed in last night’s drag, only the makeup is smudged now, her tights littered with more rips than before, and when Roy checks, the wig looks fucking abysmal. Strands are clumped together, sticking every which way, and he makes a mental note to fix it before they leave because he knows Adore probably won’t.

Adore smiles when she seems him—her face lighting up like someone’s flicked a fucking light switch. She stands in the open doorway, staring. Light shines behind her, the glow of the hallway making her look more like a silhouette to Roy than an actual person, and he has to squint, has to turn his head away.

“Shut the fucking door,” he says, and Adore does, though her smile doesn’t fade. She kicks off the heels she’s got on, not caring where they end up, and Roy can feel the groan press at the back of his teeth. “Bitch,” he mutters, because he knows that’ll likely be his job, too.

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. God fucking knows he shouldn’t be. Adore’s a messy bitch—Roy had learnt that way back when they’d first met. He’s just tired—tired and grouchy and worked up from spending so much time in close proximity with Adore again. He’d left the post-show drinking party early; had claimed to want to get some actual sleep—and he’d meant it, only he’s been lying in bed awake for close to three fucking hours now, his mind racing as he definitely didn’t worry about where Adore’s been or what she’s done.

Adore shimmies out of the worst of her clothing, and Roy listens as she stumbles around her side of the room; darting in and out of the bathroom to clean herself up. She calls out, tells him not to look, and Roy snorts before obediently closing his eyes.

“Wouldn’t want to, anyway,” he says, and he can hear Adore huff in response.

“Liar,” Adore says. She’s standing at the foot of Roy’s bed, now—dressed in little more than a pair of boxer shorts and looking more like Danny than his drag counterpart. Roy doesn’t know what she’s doing, and when she starts to kneel on _his_ bed, her knees sinking into the mattress, he can’t help but look on confused.

“Whatcha doing, chola?” he asks, quieter than he’d meant to. Adore just continues to smile. She crawls her way forward, settles on the mattress next to him as soon as she’s able—too close, Roy thinks, but there’s not much he can do about it.

Their room is dimly lit, the soft glow of the rising sun outside the only light source. It doesn’t offer much, but it manages to cast Adore in a soft, blue-toned glow. Roy stares, swallows; his eyes transfixed on Adore’s chest, on the scattered tattoos and the way her body moves with rhythmic breathes. She looks rather beautiful, Roy thinks, but he pushes that thought away before it can even fully manifest. Thinking of Adore—of how she looks, of how he feels about how she looks—that’s dangerous territory. Roy knows from experience.

“Been thinking,” Adore says, and she kicks her way under the blanket, leans into his personal space, revels in the warmth of his body. The words are slurred, but Roy doesn’t think it’s from alcohol. It’s more like exhaustion.

He snorts again. “You? Thinking? That’s new.”

Adore whacks him, but it’s only playful—she’s still smiling. “Mmhmm.” She rubs her cheek against the pillow, cat like. “About what they said—about us.”

Roy stills at that, but he tries not to make it obvious. He’d hoped Adore hadn’t heard it—Courtney’s quip about them acting like a couple had hit a little too close, and Roy had left the second he’d been able to. It wasn’t what she’d said that made him uncomfortable—he and Adore were close, and Adore _was_ the closest thing to a soft spot as Bianca would ever get—it was the way the words had resonated that had got to him, the way the whole room had reacted; agreement, affirming nods, jokes about how it was a little late to be picking that up _now_. They’d said that he and Danny were like a couple, that Roy was like an overprotective mother hen, and Roy had wanted to laugh it off, had wanted to deny it with a scathing remark about how he hates the bitch, but it was like all his wit had left him, and all that’d remained was a sinking feeling in his gut—was a surge of guilt and panic and _get out, get out, get out._

“They’re not wrong,” Adore continues, and she looks up at him, now; her eyes catching in the light. There is something about the way she looks, Roy thinks—something beautiful and ethereal and utterly fucking heart-breaking. He can’t help but look at her, can’t help but stare when the tip of a pink tongue peeks out to wet dry lips, when the edge of a mouth pulls back to a smile; soft and gentle and something Roy has only ever seen directed at him. “You know they’re not,” Adore adds.

Again, Roy wants to play it off as a joke—serious isn’t what he’s good at, and the sweet intimacy of Adore’s voice is as frightening as it is endearing—but he gets that same feeling from back at the bar; like all his words have vanished, like he’s left with nothing, and he can’t fucking believe that this is happening _now._

“So what if they’re not,” he says, because it’s the best he can fucking manage. The words have no bite to them, no anger or irritation. It’s a pathetic parrot of his usual self, and Roy wants to dig a whole to lay down and die in.

Adore is still looking, still staring. Her eyes are still on his, her expression one of deep thought. Roy doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look so thoughtful.

And then, so quick he hardly sees it coming, Adore is touching her mouth to his, is clutching onto the fabric of his nightshirt and pressing herself so close against him that Roy barely knows where he starts and where Adore begins. He is stunned still for a moment—can think little more than _oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck_ —but he kicks into gear at the first touch of a tongue, at the quiet wine from the back of Adore’s throat. He doesn’t pretend to not want it—he’d passed the denial stage so long ago it’s almost fucking embarrassing—just kisses Adore back with the same ferocity, with the same unveiled desperation.

“That’s why,” Adore says, and it barely makes any sense, but Roy doesn’t care, not when she looks so adorable.

“Adore—”

“Uh-uh,” Adore cuts him off, and Roy realises that she must think he’s going to argue. “You know they’re right,” she says again, and this time her hand trails up the curve of his neck, her fingertips resting against the underside of his jaw.

He looks down at her, tries to bite back his smile as she rambles on; words of conviction rolling off her tongue. “Adore—”

“It’s only a few more steps,” she says, speaking over him. “We just ha—”

“ _Adore_ ,” Roy says for a third time, catching her wrist in his hand. He lets himself smile, now; the dimples forming in either cheek. “I’m not arguing, bitch.”

Adore shuts up at that, and Roy watches as the ball drops, as realisation slowly creeps its way across her expression. Her eyes light up—a shine of happiness he’s not ever seen before—and then Adore is kissing him again, is clawing at his body and moaning against his mouth, is mumbling about _want_ and _need_ and _now, now, now._

Roy laughs, soft and breathy, and pulls her body above his; wraps his arms around her waist, holds on with an impossibly tight grip, and when Adore looks back down at him, her larger than life smile back in place, Roy knows he’s completely and utterly fucking done for.

**Author's Note:**

> this was my first time writing rpdr rpf, so it probably wasn't amazing, but i hope you liked it anyway!
> 
> come find me on [tumblr!](https://delectabledelrio.tumblr.com)


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